


Old demons

by GoopyToods



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Bullying, F/M, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2020-12-23 20:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoopyToods/pseuds/GoopyToods
Summary: When long-repressed memories get dredged up following the takedown of Odin Reichenbach, how will Sherlock cope when his carefully constructed persona is shattered and those he has grown to call family gets to see between the cracks at the man he used to be?





	1. Another day, another mindless murder.

**Author's Note:**

> (AU)- Gregson is still captain, Marcus is still a detective and Joan never adopted a child, leading to Sherlock returning much sooner than in the actual show. 
> 
> I've never written these characters before so please tell me if I cock it up 😂 please review, advice is always appreciated :)

The stench of decaying flesh is overwhelming, causing Joan's eyes to water profusely as she scans the scene in front of her, even Sherlock is twitching more than usual, his arms and shoulders rigid whilst his fingers dance restlessly. Marcus stands far back enough where he can breathe comfortably with the rest of the cops who line the edge of the crime scene, writing intermittently on his notepad and - even after all this time- marvelling at the way Holmes sees the world.

The man in question is mid-speech to Captain Gregson, pointing out minor details that could lead to them identifying the current 'Jane Doe'.

"-she's recently started a higher-end office job, probably her first one judging by her shirt and trousers. It's the only formal outfit she owns, going by the quality of the fabric of the suit compared to her cheaper made shoes and jewellery and how the elasticated section of her trousers show clear signs of repeated washing... The crime was pre-meditated but I don't think it was specifically planned with her in mind as the target."

"Why do you think that?"

Squatting by the body, Joan continued Sherlock''s explanation without missing a beat.

"You can see by the way the dismemberment is clean-cut and neat that the killer was already equipped with the tools to effectively cut through her body, the post mortem damage is considerably more controlled than the other injuries, suggesting that the perpetrator quite enjoys the killing and has grown efficient with the cleanup. But despite the initial wounds being more sporadic and varied, the attacks are still measured and specific, attacking weak spots efficiently, this would go against the notion of a crime of passion as emotion would overcloud logic and the injuries would be much messier"

"Full marks Watson" Sherlock smirked down to the crouched figure of his partner. She rolled her eyes, ducking her head to hide the slight smile that pulled at her lips as she stood up.

"Alright, we'll spread the photo of our victim as much as possible, and run her fingerprints through our database to see if she's got any priors. I'll let you know once we get any more information on her identity, shouldn't take too long".

Nodding, the two consulting detectives watched as the Captain returned to the officers who have fallen quiet as Gregson approached and began dishing out orders. It was getting late, the sun was slowly beginning to retreat behind the New York skyline and the crime scene was slowly emptied and cleaned.

Joan beckoned a taxi as Sherlock tapped away at his phone distractedly, they were headed back to the Brownstone, hoping for a full night's rest. The investigation will begin tomorrow and Joan wanted to be as well-rested as possible. If she was lucky, she might be able to persuade her partner to sleep too, making it much less likely that he will be overly irritable later on in the week when the man will probably be working on a refined blend of coffee, Tea and sheer willpower.


	2. Good morning Mr Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a domestic-y filler chapter. ik its been a while since I first updated but I will try to keep uploads as often as I can. edited the summary slightly for my plot idea.
> 
> Once again, I've never written these characters before so please tell me if I cock it up.   
please review, the advice is always appreciated :)

The moon was full and the evening was quiet, or as quiet as it is possible to be, with Sherlock playing the violin in his room and Joan halfheartedly watching an old Mets game on mute, mostly ignoring the screens in favour of focusing on the beautiful sound that danced around the brownstone. Sherlock had taken to practising the instrument much more regularly upon his return to the world of the living, the familiar task of playing his favourite pieces aided in settling his mind and helped in regards to his sobriety which had become a struggle to maintain for the year and a half he had found himself alone. The violin practise had been Joan’s idea, one that she had been grateful he acquiesced to with little argument after seeing the way he was upon returning to their home. She had taken to decorating in his absence and he had stood out like a sore thumb against the clean white walls when he returned. Whilst he was no less physically healthy after his absence, she could see the effects of his isolation in the way his eyes looked slightly more hollow and his hands fidgeted much more often; he did not complain when she hugged him tightly, instead he slightly shocked her by returning the favour, arms wrapping around her shoulders and head burying itself in her hair.

The screens in the media room had long since been turned off by the time Sherlock had carefully replaced the violin in its case and wandered downstairs to fix himself a cup of tea before retiring for the night. He heated the water in the microwave, something that, as an Englishman, wounded him to his very core, but the whistling of their stove-top kettle was loud enough to reach upstairs and he did not want a repeat of the last time he made a late-night brew. Mug of tea in hand, he embarked on the challenge of avoiding each creak in the old wooden stairs that lead to his room, shifting his weight from left to right, avoiding the middle of the steps, and avoiding the wrath of Joan whom would no doubt be irritated at being woken after so recently falling asleep. Placing the mug on his bedside table, he methodically stripped off down to his boxers, leaving a pile of crumpled clothes at the foot of the bed and laying down beneath the covers. One mug of tea and five chapters of thrilling insights into the development of mould later, he was fast asleep.

With the sun came the early dawn chorus of birds that slowly woke Joan from her slumber, arms stretching and a groan heaving her lips as she blinked away the haze of sleep from her eyes. She retrieved her phone from her bedside table and winced at the blaring blue light that loudly proclaimed “9:30 am” the be the current time, along with a series of texts from the captain telling her that she and Sherlock should meet him at the precinct as swiftly as possible. She shot back a quick “just woke up, be there in an hour or so x”, chuckling at the way she had unconsciously used the Britishism of finishing her text with an “x” after spending most of the day before texting Kitty and lifted herself out of her bed and onto her feet. After quickly brushing through her hair and tying it into a bun, she located her slippers and put them on one foot at a time, relishing the way they kept her feet warm as she stepped out onto the cold wood floor of the landing and made her way towards the bathroom to brush her teeth and use the toilet. A quick glance into Sherlock’s room on her way out of the bathroom told her that he was still asleep, face squished into his pillow and a small amount of drool forming a wet patch next to his agape mouth. A soft smile pulled at the edges of her lips as she looked at her best friend, the man who once used to act so alien and aloof, fast asleep with his limbs strewn about like a rag doll. She left the door ajar and ambled downstairs to fix up breakfast, quickly deciding on mushroom omelettes through a simultaneous lack of ingredients and energy. Despite the noise she had generated in the kitchen whilst making breakfast, Sherlock hadn’t emerged from upstairs, Joan had already eaten her omelette before cooking his, and so she carefully placed the plate on the tray along with two mugs of coffee and carefully made her way upstairs. She reached his door, delighted to see he was still out cold, it was rare that she got to repay the favour of the multitudes of methods in which he had woken her up over the years and so she revelled in any opportunity she might get. While he may be mostly back to his usual self, he still was more fragile than usual, so something that would annoy or upset him was off the table; she could save the wet towel for another day. A smirk flickered actress her face as she decided on her plan. 

She placed the tray down on his bedside table with slightly more force than necessary, grinning at the way the clattering of crockery jolted the man awake with a groan.

“Breakfast!” his wardrobe doors were flung open and she grabbed an old t-shirt from the back along with a waistcoat, scarf and trousers and flung them onto the bed.

“Clothes!” she announced with a grin as she looked down at Sherlock, now awake and wearing a bemused expression as he sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes.

“You think you’re funny don’t you?” he asked, his eyes betraying his amusement, meeting nothing but another dumb smile at his expense.

“Suppose this is karma really. Could have been worse.” the small smile he had been trying to fight split across his face as he tucked into his breakfast and Joan sat down on the edge of his bed, plucking her coffee from the tray and sipping contentedly.

“I assume you woke me up for a reason and not just for fun? Eugene finished the autopsy?”

“No actually, or at least not that I know of. Gregson texted this morning, wants to see us” she flipped her phone around, holding the screen in front of his face so that he could read the texts, his expression slipping into that of focus as he quickly scanned the words in front of him before a confused frown flickered across his face.

“I’m sure its nothing, I told him we’d be there soon so get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

And with that, she was gone from his room, the door closing behind her, presumably off to get dressed herself, leaving him to pull on the clothes she had given him before fixing his hair in the mirror. He was wearing a very similar outfit to how he used to dress when they first met, faded dark red t-shirt, waistcoat and a red checkered scarf, the new lines on his face and his thinner hair betrayed the illusion that time hadn’t passed, he was a different man now compared to who he was back then. The clothes fit, but they didn’t feel right, and so he traded the faded t-shirt for a white shirt, rolled up to his elbow and resigned the old shirt and scarf to the oblivion that is the back of his wardrobe and made his way downstairs.

Joan was waiting by the door, sporting a suit of her own, strikingly similar to the one he was wearing were it not for his absence of a tie and the heeled boots that Joan always wore. Grabbing a set of keys each, they strode out of the front doors and into the warmth of early spring, walking towards the taxi that Joan had booked ten minutes prior and set off towards the precinct. 


End file.
